"This has nothing—"
"Maybe talk to someone. A therapist maybe."
"No way!"
"Zoe, I'm just saying—"
"I don't need some batty bimbo with a master's degree telling me how to live my life." Her eyes quivered, and a shock of pink appeared in her cheeks. "I've been there. Done that. Never helped. I'm better off dealing with stuff on my own."
Gage sighed. "You witnessed something pretty awful. It might help to talk to someone with training in this sort of the thing."
"Oh yeah? Then why didn't you see a therapist after Janet died?"
"This isn't about me."
"You didn't answer my question."
"It was probably a mistake. I should have talked to someone."
"Liar. You just like dealing with your crap on your own."
"Hey," Gage said, "you really want to use me as a model on how to deal with tragedy? Come on, you can do better than me. Just because I have perfected the art of screwing up my life doesn't mean you have to follow in my footsteps."
"I'm not going back to school," Zoe insisted, enunciating each word in a brittle voice. "Never. Never. Never."
"Fine," Gage said. "You think that would make Connor happy?"
"What?"
"Or Jeremiah? You think that's what they'd want for you?"
"I don't believe this!"
"I'm just trying to get through to you!"
"No, you're being an asshole!" She leapt to her feet, pointed a finger at him as if to say something, then marched toward her room—before spinning around violently and marching straight back. "I just saw someone I care about shot in the head! And on top of that—on top of that, they just arrested my best friend because they think he did it! What is some therapist going to say? These things happen? Come on!"
"Usually therapists do more listening than talking."
"Yeah, well, I got plenty of friends for that."
"Lucky you. I've never been good at making friends." She didn't laugh. He didn't really expect her to, but it would have been an encouraging sign. "Hold on a second. You said they think he did it. Are you telling me you don't?"
She glared at him like a bull staring down a rodeo clown who'd just jumped out of the ring. "I don't know," she said.
"You think he's innocent?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know."
"Zoe, do you know something about Jeremiah? Something you're not telling me?"
"I don't know anything. I just—I don't think Jeremiah could do that. Not to Connor. They spent all their time together."
"Did they spend much time together before they started going to BBCC?"
"What, you doing your detective thing or something?" When he didn't answer, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "I'm really tired, Garrison. I just want to lie down. Sleep this off. Maybe I'll—maybe I'll feel a little better in the morning."
"Sure," Gage said, "but I'm pretty sure you'll be talking about it to Brisbane and Trenton tomorrow. Figure you might want to talk it through with me first."
"I just told you I don't know anything."
"You probably know more about those two than anybody else, right?"
"I guess."
"Then they're going to have a lot of questions for you. I'm just saying you might want to be ready."
Groaning, Zoe plopped herself onto the couch. She trained that deep frown of hers on the floor for a few seconds before abruptly looking up at him.
"Wait a second," Zoe said. "You think he's innocent, too, don't you?"
"I didn't say I—"
"Come on, what did you see? You go all Sherlock Homes and spot a clue that proves he didn't do it?"
"Nothing like that."
"Then what?"
"He told me."
"He what?"
"He told me he's innocent. I kind of believe him."
"He told you? He just told you he's innocent and you believe him?"
"I said ‘kind of.' I'm not sure either way."
Zoe shook her head. "What if it comes back that the gun he was holding was the one that shot Connor?"
"It does look like the same Smith & Wesson."
"But you still think he might be innocent?"
"Innocent until proven guilty," Gage said. "Let me ask you this. You said they spent all their time together. What did you mean?"
"I mean, they were hanging out so much I barely saw them. Watching Star Trek, playing those card games, Magic and whatever. PlayStation. Only time I really saw them was in the cafeteria or in astronomy class. That's the one we all had together. The rest of them time …" She shrugged. "I was kind of sad not seeing Jeremiah much, but also kind of happy for him, I guess. He finally had a good friend."
"He seemed like he really needed that," Gage said.
"Yeah."
"Let me ask you something else. It's a bit of an awkward question, but I won't be the only one to ask. Do you have any reason to think they were lovers?"
The dozing Zoe whip-snapped to a hard glare faster than if he'd pricked her with a needle. "Why is that awkward?"
"I just meant—"
"It's not awkward for me. Is it awkward for you?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Why don't you just come out and ask if they were homosexuals? Do you have a problem with the word homosexual?"
"I don't have a problem with that word."
"Homosexual."
"Right."
"You don't want to say it. Come on, just say it."
"Zoe—"
"Say it, say it."
"Fine, homosexual. What's the big deal?
She grinned. "How about gay? Can you say that? Or queer?"
"Zoe—"
"Faggot? That's a nasty one, right? I bet you don't want to say that."
Her grin was more like a leer now. Gage folded his hands in his lap and waited. This wasn't about him. He could see that, even if he couldn't deny that she was at least partly right, that he did have a problem saying the word homosexual. And the other ones. It embarrassed him, not the intellectual idea of it, but his own response. There was some revulsion. He wanted to think of himself as an enlightened person—open-minded, fair, not tied down by dogma or small-mindedness. But there was some raw emotional response that betrayed his lofty ideals, and Zoe had homed in on it like a bee to honey.
"I'm not perfect," Gage said. "I may have lived in New York for years, but I'm just a Montana boy at heart. But I am trying, Zoe. Cut me some slack, okay?"
She went on leering, an expression so twisted it turned his stomach, then, abruptly, the curtain was pulled away. The play was over. She blinked rapidly. He saw something raw and exposed that she'd been doing her best to keep buried.
"Oh shit," she said.
"It's all right."
"He's dead."
"I know."
"All that … all that blood …"
He went to her, an awkward pivot on his awkward knee, and sat next to her on the couch, putting an arm around her and holding her close. There weren't that many tears. When she stopped, he took his arm away and they sat like that, quiet, listening to the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
"I'm tired," she said.
"It's been a long day."
"But I don't know if I can sleep."
"Me either," Gage said. "Probably still a good idea to try, though. Tomorrow will be another long day."
"Yeah."
With a sigh, she rose languidly from the couch. She started for the hall, then stopped and turned back. It may have been his imagination, or just the slump of her shoulders, but she seemed shorter somehow. How much could life throw at this girl? After the past couple of years, it was amazing she was still standing at all.
"There is something you should know," she said.
"What's that?"
"I asked him once. You know, if he was gay. Jeremiah."
"And what did he tell you?"
Zoe made a face as if she'd eaten something unpleasant and was trying to keep it down. "I prob
ably shouldn't have done it. It's just … he was having so many problems. With some kids at school. With his parents. I thought maybe, you know, if he just kind of got some stuff out in the open …"
"What did he say?"
"He got real angry. He denied it. He said he liked girls. I asked him why he never asked me out, then, and he got even angrier. Like real angry—screaming and punching-the-wall kind of thing. It freaked me out, so I got out of there. He called me later crying and apologized and stuff. Told me he'd never asked me out because we had such a good friendship. That sort of thing. I could tell it was a lot of bullshit, but I wasn't going to push it anymore."
"So you think he was gay, but he was repressing it?"
"Yeah. Big-time."
"And do you think Connor was gay?"
Zoe shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't know him well enough. But maybe, yeah. Probably. And I've been thinking … if Jeremiah got that angry just when I asked him if he was gay, what would he do if …" She trailed off, shaking her head.
"If Connor made a pass at him?" Gage asked.
"Yeah," Zoe said. "What if Connor tried to, you know, kiss Jeremiah or something? Or told him how he felt? Do you think he … do you think he could …?"
"It's possible," Gage said.
"That wouldn't make him innocent."
"No, it wouldn't."
"I want to believe he's innocent."
"Me too."
Chapter 8
Friday morning, after restless sleep and a meager breakfast of toast and coffee, Gage and Zoe headed for the police station. It was Zoe's idea. Why wait around all day for the cops to eventually get around to swinging by the house? Gage debated calling a lawyer he knew in town but decided it was an unnecessary complication at this point. He'd wait to see the direction the questions took.
The sky over the two-lane highway was the kind of soppy, biscuits-and-gravy gray that he'd come to expect from Novembers in Barnacle Bluffs, far more the norm than the previous day's sunny weather. Tiny droplets beaded the front window, the air so thick that yellow halos surrounded the headlights of the oncoming cars. His old Volkswagen van, purchased shortly after he'd arrived in town seven years earlier, grumbled and groaned the whole way to the station, always seemingly on the verge of giving up the ghost for good but never quite doing so.
Giving up the ghost for good. It was how Gage felt most days, which was probably why he refused to get something better even though everyone insisted he should. Especially because everyone insisted he should. That was always the way with him. The more people wanted him to do something, the more he wanted to do the opposite.
A few minutes later, they parked outside the police station, a small building by Big Dipper Lake that looked like somebody had retrofitted a ranch house rather than built it from scratch.
"Is Jeremiah here?" Zoe asked.
"Most likely in one of the holding cells," Gage said, "until he's transferred to the county lockup in a week or so."
"You think they'd let us see him?"
"I don't think we should ask."
"He's probably scared shitless."
"Probably."
"Even just for a few—"
"No, Zoe. Not right now."
She frowned but didn't protest further. After stepping into a bustling reception area, they were ushered into a windowless questioning room where a large gray metal table had been bolted to the floor. They sat in the plastic chairs and didn't even have time to tap their thumbs before the door opened and Quinn entered, two paper cups of coffee in hand. Brisbane and Trenton followed.
"Got some bad coffee for you," Quinn said.
"My favorite," Gage said. "This must be a big deal. We're getting the big boss himself and not just his henchmen."
"Watch who you're calling henchmen," Trenton snapped.
Zoe's expression was already flat; she was somewhere else. As everyone settled into their seats, Gage noticed a red nick on Quinn's neck where he'd cut himself and saw that he'd missed a button on his plaid shirt. The bags under Brisbane's eyes, always dark, were even darker, big enough to store nuts in for the winter. Trenton, on the other hand, looked even sharper and snappier than usual—and taller, too, if that were possible, his back as straight as the wall, chin jutting out like a proud man facing a firing squad.
"I'm sorry to drag you down here, Zoe," Quinn said, and he did sound legitimately sad. Other than Gage, nobody knew more about what Zoe had gone through in the past few years than Quinn. "We just have a few questions, then we'll let you go."
She didn't answer. Quinn looked at Gage for guidance, and he could only shrug. He didn't think she was particularly nervous; there were just a lot of bad memories associated with cops. Even in her previous life, before she'd come to live in Barnacle Bluffs, she must have had some encounters with law enforcement, her parents being drug addicts. It was a small miracle she could speak at all, which was, when it came down to it, how Gage summed up what he thought about Zoe in total. A small miracle.
"Let's start with how well you know both these boys," Quinn said. "Just tell us the nature of your relationships with them."
"We were all just friends."
"I see."
She glared at the chief as if expecting a challenge. He didn't, smiling his Mr. Rogers smile. Gage tried his coffee. It was cold and bitter. After a moment's pause, Zoe started to talk, haltingly at first, then smoother, telling the cops much of what they'd discussed the previous night—minus one significant detail. She didn't say anything about Jeremiah's freak-out about possibly being gay. Quinn, however, zeroed right in on the omission like a buzzard spotting fresh roadkill.
"I appreciate the information," Quinn said. "Do you have any reason to believe the two of them exhibited homosexual tendencies?"
"Homosexual tendencies?" Zoe said.
"Do you think two of the two of them were, well, more than friends?"
"They were both members of the official Star Trek fan club. Is that what you mean?"
Gage couldn't help but chuckle at that, and both Brisbane and Trenton shot him a dirty look. Quinn, on the other hand, merely smiled thinly.
"Come on now," Quinn said. "Don't make this hard for us here. You know what I'm talking about."
"No, I really don't. I'm just a small-town Christian girl. I don't know about all this sexual-tendency stuff."
"Right," Trenton said, "you with the nose stud and the dark eye shadow. You've got small-town girl written all over you."
"And you've got homosexual tendencies written all over you," Zoe shot back.
"Oh boy," Gage said.
Trenton, with his pale Irish complexion, turned red as fast as a traffic light. It may just have been wishful thinking on Gage's part, but he thought he detected the glimmerings of a smile from Quinn, who raised his arm in front of Trenton as if to restrain him.
"Hold on, we're all friends here," Quinn said.
"We're not friends," Zoe said. "When have cops ever been my friends? You've done nothing for me."
"Don't we all want the same thing?" Quinn said. "We just want to find out what happened that night. I'm just asking for a little cooperation, that's all."
"I am cooperating," Zoe said.
"Okay. How about doing it without the attitude?"
Gage had heard enough. "How about you just ask the questions and forget about lecturing Zoe, okay? Or maybe it's time for us to call a lawyer."
"There's no need for that," Quinn said.
"This whole thing is a waste of time," Trenton said. "Anybody doubt ballistics will nail that kid to the cross? We caught him with the gun in his hand!"
"Hold on," Quinn said.
"How about we ask a few questions?" Gage said. "A little tit for tat here. You have any witnesses that heard the gunshot?"
"Unfortunately not," Quinn said.
"Hard to believe."
"A lot of people playing loud music yesterday—including Connor Fleicher, apparently, while he was working on the computer. Many people used to co
mplain about him."
"It's true," Zoe said. "Connor used to like to play movie theme songs really loud. Like Indiana Jones, that sort of thing."
"You nail down a time of death?" Gage asked.
Brisbane, who'd silently watched the whole conversation as if he were tied to his chair, now shook his head and grumbled, "I don't know why we should answer any of his questions. We're just inviting trouble."
"I'm just telling him things he'll find out soon enough anyway," Quinn said to him. Then, turning back to Gage, he added, "The ME estimates the time of death at about 4 a.m. Thursday morning. The guess is that he was shot an hour earlier and basically bled to death."
"Jesus," Zoe said.
"When was the last time anybody saw Connor or Jeremiah?" Gage asked.
"We're working on that now," Quinn said.
Gage nodded his head at Brisbane and Trenton. "With who? You got Barnacle Bluffs' finest sitting in this room."
"I don't like the way he said finest," Brisbane muttered.
"Me either," Trenton said.
Quinn drummed his fingers on the table, nails tapping on the metal. He looked at Zoe. He looked at Gage again. "Either of you know anything else that could help us?"
"Not really," Zoe said.
"And where were you, again, before you found Connor?"
"I told you. I'd just come from the library. I sometimes like to study early in the morning before breakfast."
"You talk to anybody there?"
"Not really. But I did check out a book."
"Which book?"
"What?"
"Which book? What did you check out?"
Zoe shook her head. "I don't know. I don't remember. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Maybe nothing," Quinn said. "You don't remember it?"
"No. If you haven't noticed, a lot has happened since then."
"I've noticed. But would it happen to be a book called Dealing with Loss?"
"Hold on," Gage said. "I'm not liking the tone here. Where are you going with this?"
"Don't know," Quinn said. "I just thought that was a curious book to check out on the same day Connor Fleicher was murdered."
"You searched her room without a warrant?"
The Lovely Wicked Rain: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series) Page 6
